


Mutual Understanding

by Bring_me_home_please



Category: DCU, The Spectacular Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: A smidge of angst from both of them, First fic for this fandom, Multi, Some angst, criminal husbands with criminal husbands solidarity, inspired by Angerydj, okay I lied a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23971462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bring_me_home_please/pseuds/Bring_me_home_please
Summary: Being trapped in a draining containment facility you hate is awful. It’s not as bad if you have someone you can bitch about it too, especially when both of you know what it’s like to have eccentric husbands who should be serving jail sentences for a lot of things.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Poly Sinister Six
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Fighters don’t last long in Ravencroft

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I’ve written for this fandom, so I may have taken a lot of creative liberty with this one. This is based on the art work from king of Spectacular Spider-Man content @AngeryDJ from tumblr (srsly check him out if you haven’t, his stuff is awesome!!)

Max PoV

I’m so tired. I’m sick and tired of this place. There’s nothing I hate more than places like this. Places filled with walking lab coats that treat you like an animal, like a monster. Places filled with people that think they can fix me. I WAS **NEVER** BROKEN IN THE FIRST PLACE! I slam my fist against the wall, hard. Hard enough to hurt. It felt nice to hurt. It felt nice to feel something. But if there’s something I’d want to feel, I’d wanna feel freedom again. It’s not the first time I’ve been here but it’s so damn exhausting losing my freedom over and over again. Now it’s even worse now I have a home to go back to. I miss it constantly. Everything about it. Every little damn thing. Otto grumbling to himself how Adrian’s almost finished the sugar (‘I don’t understand how someone who gets so bitter about having to change the channel consumes HALF a jar of sugar in a SINGLE cup of tea that I refilled YESTERDAY!’). Montana subtly bopping along to 9 to 5 from his Dolly Parton album in his shorts, socks, sandals and that god awful cowboy hat if it’s a waffle day. Flint yelling catcalls when any of us walk down the hallway. Alex giggling to Blake when they’re about to do something stupid. (‘Shhh, be quiet сладкий голубь, we don’t wanna wake up your птичий папа or I’m going to be sleeping on the couch and you won’t be getting dessert.’). I’d usually instigate it. Adrian would wake up from his old man nap and scold the three of us. Or we’d scatter away from the crime scene and play hide and seek with him until he wasn’t mad anymore. (He’s never actually mad. He’s just cranky. Old man like him needs his nap time!) Then where do I begin to describe Blake? She’s a sweet little thing. She’s got me wrapped around her little finger, I know that much. A little playmate of my own. She makes me feel like a better person, like, if someone like me can be a part of raising someone this precious with so many wonderful people, maybe this was all worth it? I don’t know. I don’t care. I just need to get home. It’s only been six hours and I’m already feeling homesick. Missing my husbands, missing my playmate. Just... missing everything in general. I guess when you’re treated so well for so long, you forget that when shit like this comes back to bite you- it really does take a toll and it’s much worse when you know you could be doing something better than this. Like playing peekaboo with your daughter. Pranking one of my husbands with my daughter. Rocking out to Linkin Park in the kitchen... with my- Blake.   
Pfft, like I said. She’s got me wrapped around her little finger. I lay back down on my bed (if you could call it that, it’s practically made of concrete) and honestly I was ready to sleep. It’s only about noon but that’s as much fun as you can have in Ravencroft. Just as I was about to though, I hear the doors slide open with that hissing noise and some poor guy screaming at the guards.   
“I **SWEAR** TO YOU! I WILL HAVE YOU AND YOUR FAMILY TAKEN FROM YOUR HOME, HAVE YOU TIED TO A CHAIR AND I WILL MAKE YOU **WATCH** AS I SLOWLY SKIN THEM ALIVE AND WHEN I’M DONE YOUR DEATH WILL MAKE HELL SEEM LIKE A PARADISE! THAT IS A **PROMISE**!”   
I watched as he kicked and writhed all the way until he was tossed into the cell next to me. That fighting spirit will leave in a week. Fighters don’t last long here. Not in Ravencroft. I only saw him for a moment before he was thrown into his cell but he was pale, tall and skinny with messy brown hair and his glasses fell askew. I think Otto would like him, he’s pretty creative with his threats but god; Adrien would give him an old man lecture on outfit choice. Purple button up with an olive green vest and practically fluorescent emerald green pants. In his words ‘I wouldn’t be caught dead in a matchless outfit and no man or woman should be dealt the same fate’. I do love my husband- believe me, I do- but sometimes he just talks like an antiquity. I never mind it though, it never fails to make me smile when he talks like he’s New York’sShakespeare. I hear the guy’s scream at the guards as they walk away from him, stomp about frustratedly and kick the wall in anger before yowling in pain. Life is a real comic sometimes, couldn’t help but giggle and thank whatever deity for giving this eighteen year old crumbling shithole containment building a pitiful budget.  
“What are you in for, huh? You don’t sound like you’re from around here. Are you new in town?”   
“Knew it, I thought the walls were too thin, building’s almost 17-18 years old at the latest though so this place is pretty low budget. Dually noted. Why do you wanna know anyway?”  
Here’s the thing, first off, I didn’t expect an answer back. Second, I didn’t think the new guy would be smart enough to guess the age bracket of his building. Usually people that smart aren’t here because they haven’t been caught yet. Or they’re locked in solitary, so it’s a pretty mixed bag all round. “No reason. I’m bored and it’s nice to have company around here.” He paused for a moment before I heard shuffling and heard him press against the wall of his cell. “Well, I suppose company doesn’t hurt, I am stuck here after all. First off, you’re right, I’m not from here. I’m a Gothamite, proud and true.” I sit up in my bed and decide to listen in.   
“Ah yes, ‘The Criminal Capital’. Lucky you.”   
“People actually call it that? I thought that was just a stupid moniker from travel websites.” I scoff. He wasn’t wrong, I did see it in a news article on a travel site at three AM.  
“Believe it or not, yeah, Gotham’s crime rate is pretty infamous. You didn’t answer the question though, what’re you doing here?”   
“Why I’m here is pretty funny. I told Oswald, my accomplice, that two sticks of dynamite would send a message through to this young wannabe mob boss- he’s still in his twenties so he was definitely ballsy- trying to invade our territory, but he had to go and order the upstart’s father’s beheading and had his head stuck on a pike **in front of his house** to quote ‘insure the message was understood’. Can you believe that?!” He exclaimed exasperatedly. Clearly not the first time, then. “Well the message definitely got across because the kid started a rage filled gang fight, so the police got involved. Oswald’s getaway got in just in time but I got hit in the side with a... crowbar from the looks of this bruise and a few gashes to my back. I got in the car though, winded and bleeding but fine overall and we went to go hide out here whilst our people take care of the impertinent brat who got a little too eager. All of this orchestrated by our protégés, of course. Got noticed by some civilians who snitched so the cops and the authorities were informed. Oswald got away but promised to get me before the week was over.”   
“Yeah, call that the price of fame around here, this is New York after all. We are known for our growing population, also can I ask you something? Do Gotham mobsters still go through scouting and training protégés?”  
“Surprising, right? Bet you didn’t think us mobsters would c-“  
“No no no, I don’t think like that.” Hell then I’d be a hypocrite. “I just mean, from what I’ve heard, Gotham mobsters are a sort of new generation now. They don’t do protégés or successors anymore because now after they kick the bucket, they just let their land go to whoever’s got the guts to fight for it. Do they still do that or did that die when the new mob bosses stepped to the table?” God, I can’t believe Otto’s spiels from his obsessive reading habits about the entire (and I mean entire) history of Gotham’s criminal underworld are actually paying off. I should consider thanking him when I get out.   
“I see that you’ve clearly done your home work Mr...?”  
“Just call me Electro dude. Don’t listen to any of the doctors here. They know jack shit about caring for people like us. Basically just stick us in here and bring us out to ask questions we shouldn’t need to answer if we really don’t want to. Careful, they can be pretty invasive.”   
“Right then! Very dually noted, Electro. Well, me and Oswald decided to take on a successor each so that when-inevitably- we either step down or die, our properties will go to worthy and trustful people who will care for it properly in our stead. It’s an old tradition but it keeps two less kids off and out of the slums so it does have its bonuses.” I paused. I actually didn’t think about it like that. Come to think of it, as much as I fully support Blake choosing what she wants to do with her life, I think a little part of me does want her to- I don’t know- reek havoc in Manhattan with us. Then maybe when we’re gone, she’ll keep the legacy going; bigger and badder than ever. That may just be the fatherly pride talking, but regardless, I’ll let her make those choices herself, she deserves that much and you bet your ass the six of us’ll support her all the same. A soft knock came from the metal wall in front of me which quickly drew my attention.  
“I can last forever but a single word will break me. I am either beloved or loathed depending on the person. I either bring nervousness, fear or clarity. What am I?” I chuckle a little, I didn’t know that Montana and Adrian’s stupid riddles they use when they’re mad at me or mad at something would actually come in handy. For once, I can genuinely thank Montana’s stubborn pride and Adrian’s prideful pettiness. Genuinely thought I would never see the day.  
“Wait, it’s silence, right? A riddler are you?” He giggled childishly from the other side.  
“Correct! I bring it up because I hope I’m not boring you, Electro. I-I, um, I usually tend to do that sometimes w-with people and that’s usually how I lose friends and n-now, fuck, I’m rambling I should stop. I’m sorry for wasting-“ “Hey!” I call out. Not yelling but saying my words firmly to calm him down but not to scare him. Alex does it sometimes when I’m on the verge of a breakdown. It doesn’t always work but I figured it was worth a go this time around.   
“You’re fine, alright? Could I get a name from you?” I utter softly to him. I try to listen carefully through the wall to make sure he was breathing alright. There were a few unsteady breaths but his breathing slowed back to normal. He swallowed down a few sobs before he started to speak. “I-It’s Edward. Edward Nygma.” I chuckle. Otto would be kicking himself right now.   
“My husband’s a pretty big fan of your work, Nygma.”   
“Um- Ed’s fine but- your husband?”   
“Got a problem?”  
“N-No, it’s totally fine by me; completely in fact, I just, um,” he coughed awkwardly. If this was going where I think this was going, this friendship had become a little more interesting “I think this would be a good time to say Oswald happens to, also, be my boyfriend.” I had to snort out a laugh, just a little. Really I did. Oh the poor guy, I actually remember being in his shoes.   
“Figured as much, Ed. Oswald’s antics really do sound like something my husbands would pull.”   
“Wait, husbands? As in more than one?”   
“Would you keel over if I told you I had five of them?” He was silent for a moment and just as I was about to completely laugh it off as a joke to spare myself the embarrassment, he stuttered out his flustered response. “Your bed must be....HUGE. I mean, it’s most likely custom but that’s probably just as expensive. How much are you technically earning to afford that much?! To me it’s sounding a lot more than what we have to make due with back in Gotham!”  
“Oh no, we don’t earn anything, actually. Just a few heists between a few pairs in rotation so we all pitch in and the occasional successful ransoms we do together when we need extra will keep us fed, clothed and funded for the year and a little over- if we’re careful with spending.”  
“How much is it for an estate in New York or can you just kill a politician and take their house? Because crime in New York sounds FANTASTIC!”

This was the conversation that started my unlikely friendship with Edward Nygma. I never thought I would find a reason to appreciate Ravencroft. At least I can say that I made a friend here.


	2. A Day in Ravencroft- PT I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Electro decides to grant Edward Nygma his protection because he has the sneaking suspicion his smartass personality is gonna get his ass beat

Max PoV

After that blissful conversation, I checked the clock in my cell. 10:30 AM. Time for therapy soon and I’d best warn Ed about it. I mean, if you could call it therapy. It’s just a ‘therapist’ surrounded by people like you and they’re questioning you. Judging you. It’s a study. It’s their form of playtime.

“Ed? We got thirty minutes ‘til therapy. I should warn you, it’s gonna be a real shit show.”  
“Should I be worried? I’ve been to Arkham, it can’t be that bad right?” Well if he’s been to Arkham I guess this’ll be a real blast from the past, for better or for worse.   
“See, here’s the thing about therapy in Ravencroft. It’s not therapy. It’s study time for scientists. They like to see how we work. They like to see normal people break down and instead of helping them, they fill their clipboards with shit they gather about you. I wanted to warn you because it was a shock I wish someone had warned me about.”   
“Well then this really isn’t too different from Arkham. Do they beat inmates here?” I choked on my spit a little at what he’d said. “The f- no they don’t or at least not in this block. They really do that in Arkham?”  
“Well then, it’s nicer here at least. I still have a few scars from it, physical and emotional. No one does anything because, hey, it’s Gotham. Sure it may be an entirely dehumanising excuse for therapy, I may be more mentally scarred and my emotional state now fluctuates from the tiniest action of someone else but hey! Who cares? They’re just insane, what else can we do for them? That’s the creed of Arkham. If I’ve come out stronger from it, I wanna see Ravencroft do its worst.” I chuckled. This guy was either a badass, crazy or a fucked up mixture of both. “I like your style Ed. I’ve seen a lot of fighters come down to this block. You’re not the first in that regard, but you are the first to actually show promise at coming out of here as one of the worst cases from this joint since they first took me in.” We had a chuckle at that before I checked the clock. 10:57. Guards would be coming down any minute. “Ed, fix up. Guards are coming down to collect us soon. They don’t see you up and ready, they’ll start a screaming match.”  
“Bleh, how crude.”  
“Pfft, dude I’m serious. Get your ass up and ready for analysis.”  
“Very well, I’m up, I’m up.” 10:58. The doors to the building start to open. 10:59. The guards station themselves at the doors. I breathe in a deep sigh as I mentally prepare for the hassling. 11:00. Another day of Ravencroft treatment has officially begun. Our doors open automatically and the guards made it a point to bark at us to get a move on. Ah, Ravencroft, never change.   
Ed stood outside his door already looking pretty fed up with this bullshit.I don’t know if this is Miriam’s influence or just my dad senses, but he looked skinnier than I thought and I feel like he was gonna get his ass beat as soon as he opened his mouth. I don’t know why but I felt a strong urge to protect him. There was something that really kept bothering me as we were marched down the corridor and into the therapy office.Why isn’t Ed nervous about the therapy?   
He’s calm. Too calm. He may have been interred at Gotham but no one likes sharing their personal shit regardless of the circumstances. Yet here he was. Slouched and splayed out across a chair with a very strong look of disdain for the whole affair. Anyhow, the doctor entered and he looked like he was ready to condescend the whole lot of us until we all get placed in solitary for rIPPING HIS THROAT OU-  
“Get it over with. Please. I’d rather go back to my cell.” I looked at Ed questionably. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was stupid. Either, you get restrained for ‘unruly behaviour’ or you’re brought to solitary.

But no.

I know Ed’s not stupid, he’s not reckless either. This was definitely starting to get interesting.

“Everyone please settle down, including you Mr Nygma.” The doctor said in a really ‘up-himself’ sort of way. “I am Doctor Bowers. I will be supervising this support group as the newly appointed head group therapist. Let’s start this off with a simple intro-“   
“Does she know?” Ed interjected. We all turned to look at him. “Oh your wife, I mean.”   
“I‘m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about Mr-“  
“Your wife must really love you if she’s managed to stay with you this long.” Bowers started to sputter and crack like a guilty kid caught in trouble, red handed. I looked on at what was happening completely shocked. But it wasn’t over yet. “When you introduced yourself to the group, you didn’t address us directly, you were looking to the window behind us. Either you’re incredibly condescending and don’t think we deserve that kind of decency or this venerable Doctor has something to hide. I think it may be a bit of both. I hate that about you.” Ed stood up from his chair and slowly sauntered towards Bowers. I’ve seen Otto do it during our occasional interrogations for information and this is for the same purpose. To make a point. To establish fear. “I was kept restrained in the lobby before being contained in my holding cell where I noticed the normal uniforms for both males and females. Button up shirt of any colour, white lab coat with your credentials and matching trousers. You wear a turtleneck of high price, maybe because of your adequate pay but also because this was a gift. It’s clean, barely used- obvious from the lack of fraying. This was from your wife wasn’t it, Patrick?”   
“A-And how did you deduce that? My name, I mean”   
“Read your name tag. I’m not an idiot so don’t treat me like one and that goes the same for everyone here.” Bowers laughed.   
“This is absurd, Mr Nygma. All you have are empty accusations with no sort of proof! Sit down. Now. Or I’m calling security. If you wanted attention, you’ll certainly get it.” Then it was Ed’s turn to laugh apparently. His laugh was creepily maniacal, hell even Otto could take some tips from him.   
“At least let me finish! You’re so simple to read and pick apart I might as well. The only sort of damage done to the sweater is the neck itself. It’s hard to notice but the neck shows signs of minor trauma. The edges are starting to curl slightly so you were desperately pulling it up, trying to hide something. You came home early in the morning which I could guess from your eye bags and your shaking hands. Either that’s the caffeine kicking in or this is getting a bit accurate for your liking. Also there’s traces of concealer stains around the lip of the neck and your physical neck has traces of the head of Ravencroft’s cologne.” Right then and there, that’s when I felt the whole room stop. No movement, no breath louder than a footstep. Ed stood facing away from Bowers who was now wide eyed and sweating buckets from his brow. “Well, I guess it is true what they say.” he then plucked a fine white blonde hair from Bowers’s shoulder. “Gentlemen. Prefer. Blonds.” He took the hair from his shoulder, put it into his palm, strode towards him and blew it into his face with a smug ass look on his face. Bowers looked on the verge of tears. His face was red and I’m pretty sure he’s sweating out the water from his cheap coffee he gets from the break room. In all my years of coming here since the incident, I have never seen somebody shut up Patrick ‘Bull Head’ Bowers successfully. Now here he is. A quivering mess of a man who nobody could stand up to. Ed sauntered back to his seat and slumped against it cockily. With an mischievous grin on his face, he taunted.

“You can go get security now, Doctor Bowers. Send me to Corbin’s office, why don’t you? I could send him your regards, if you want?”

To this day, the therapy session that happened after -while incredibly fucking awkward- had never felt better.

Edward Nygma had gotten a ‘therapist’ to shut the fuck up.

It was the best fucking shit I had seen all damn day.


End file.
